The Monster
by Kurai-Tenshi-015
Summary: After the Guardians defeat Pitch during the Dark Ages, he finds the strength to rise against them through a misunderstood girl in the most dreary of places: an asylum. PitchxOC (friendship).


**Author's Note: **Welcome old and new friends! Well this is a new attempt for me in two different ways! I've never written about Pitch before so I hope I can do him justice as the villain he is while still showing the side of him that deserves some sympathy. After all, he didn't ask to be made the villain! Also, there is absolutely zero smut or even romance in this one! We'll see how that works. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little random one-shot! If I had to put it in a timeline, I'd say it was after the Guardians were created and chased Pitch away but before he showed himself at the Pole.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable from Rise of the Guardians.

~M~

_I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed. Get along with the voices inside of my head. You're trying to save me stop holding your breath. And you think I'm crazy yeah you think I'm crazy. Well that's not fair._ – "The Monster" by Eminem and Rihanna

~M~

Why the nurses always bid her sweet dreams was beyond her. The pills they gave her never failed to put her in a dreamless state, and it usually lasted for more hours than she thought necessary. "Less trouble" was the reason she overheard them discussing one day. The older women were glancing at her and whispering, but she could hear them as if they were shouting. They didn't want to put up with her "moods."

That never made any sense to her, as she didn't acted out toward any of them anymore. Oh, she _wanted_ to. But the consequences were bad enough that she maintained her usual blank expression as they hand her the little plastic cup, and sometimes she even downed the contents. Those were the nights she hated most. The emptiness during the day was bad enough, but the complete darkness at night, although enjoyed to an extent, was too artificial to actually resonate within her as any type of comfort.

Tonight was not one of those nights. She walks through the gray hallway with her arms at her sides, completely silent.

"Did you have a good day today?" They never used her name, afraid that they would use the wrong one, and possibly cause an altercation fueled by the insult. She just nods in response, and the woman at her side makes some kind of positive response with the same stale smile she gave all of them. "Now, it's time for bed. Okay?" That was another thing that bothered her; the constant tone of collaboration, as if she could have _any _opinion in an establishment that has taken away all free will. Sometimes she wished she could just refuse and scream and fight.

Her eyes close for a moment as the idea is immediately shot down within her, and she nods, pacifying the influence and preventing an inevitable mutiny. When she opens her eyes again, they are at her door, and she glances over the barred window on it before the woman puts a key into the lock, and opens it for her. She walks in slowly, and immediately sits onto the bed. She knows the routine by now, and the nurse locks her in for a few minutes before coming back with the plastic cup, the two pills mocking her. Her jaw clenches instinctively, but she takes the cup without any prompting and turns it up, immediately taking the glass of water from her as well. After a few swallows, she puts it down.

The woman taps her chin and she opens her mouth obediently, waiting until she has searched underneath her tongue and the roof of her mouth. With a nod, the nurse takes the cup back and leaves the room, checking her door before disappearing down the hallway with light footsteps.

As soon as she is gone, the younger girl turns away from the window and coughs roughly into her hand, sending the pills back up her throat. It had taken her a while to perfect the little trick, and disposing of the medicine was sometimes difficult, but tonight was not one of those nights she was content to sleep.

~M~

For the longest time, the shadows were his only friends. His life had become nothing but darkness, something that he had embraced fervently in the past, but had soon longed for something else, something more. The Guardians had forced him into a life of solitude, and though he had no one to confide in, that was what bothered him the most.

Pitch had almost completely given up the hope of becoming involved with the mortal world again. It was obvious that he was not missed, and he often wondered why the Moon even bothered creating him. Why give _him _the burden of eternal hatred when so many others were blessed with daily remembrance and love? It was enough to make him remain in the darkness even when he felt himself becoming stronger. Even so, he knew he wasn't strong enough to take on those who had defeated him in the past. He would have to wait patiently as his powers revitalized him to the point of a worthy adversary.

It was a long time before he could even crawl out of that hole in the ground. It was the pure sensation of fear that awoke him, and he found himself gripping the earth above him, the dirt gathering under his fingernails as he desperately worked to free himself. His own fear seemed to fuel him and eventually he was able to catch his first glimpse of the surface he had found so much fun in terrorizing.

_His first breaths are difficult. His hand moves to his chest as if gripping for his currently pounding heart. Pitch continues to inhale deeply as he pulls his lower body out of the hole, crawling out from under the dilapidated bed that marked his "sanctuary." The bright sun makes him cover his face after so much time in darkness, but it gives him something he had once scoffed at; hope._

_When he stands shakily there is another surge of anxiety, and it seems to travel up his body, steadying his muscles and increasing his awareness. Since the creation of the Guardians, it had been a long time since he had felt true fear. It is exhilarating and nearly makes him smile, and he uses the familiar shadows to his advantage, sneaking around corners and through the trees until he finds his way back to civilization. Of course, no one sees him, but at the moment it doesn't bother him, and he continues to follow the scent of dread to one of the most ominous of places. _

_Pitch's golden eyes take in the gray brick building surrounded by a tall fence topped with spiked wire. His first assumption is that he's stumbled upon a prison, and then he sees the shabby sign at the front doors: "Rolling Hills Asylum." A small breath leaves him and he gazes at the scene again, this time taking note of the adults all in white walking around the grounds, some of them with flashlights. His eyes narrow and he slips closer, trying to hear what they're saying. They are all uneasy, looking around and frowning, and as the small group continues to mutter, Pitch notices many signs of disturbance. There are divots in the damp earth along with torn material, and even some small spatters of blood._

"_Is she inside?" He looks toward one of the men who crouches down to collect the material and put it into a plastic bag. _

"_Yes. They're trying to sedate her."_

"_Make sure they cut her nails as well." He mumbles, and then shakes his head as he rises. "We can't have her with the others."_

"_They're readying her room now." Pitch inhales, and can easily see that while they are concerned and still shaken from the alleged outrage of the new patient, they are not the ones producing the fear that had awoken him. He continues to follow the shadows around the building, his curiosity getting the best of him._

_He creeps through the walls of the building and walks down the hallway, glancing into the windows on either side as he goes. By the seventh door, he knows that it is an asylum for the young, as almost all of the patients are under the age of fifteen. It makes him frown and look away until he feels another surge of fear, this time accompanied by sorrow. His footsteps slow in front of a door that is clearly meant to separate the wings of the building, and he drifts through it silently, his eyes resting on even more rooms, these with much bigger windows for observation. Also, unlike the previous quarters that were designed to hold two or even three children, these are made for only one occupant, and he feels a slight pang in his chest at the reminder of his own solitary confinement. _

_Pitch continues until he slows, his eyes rising to a room at the end of the hallway. The fear was coming from that room in particular, and before he even stops at the window he knows he will see the one that had caused the earlier disturbance._

_She is huddled on her cot, her hands in her lap as she rocks gently, facing the wall. Her frail appearance indicates both her youth and her neglect, and for a moment he feels nothing but sympathy for her. Her fingernails are bloodied and blunted, and his teeth clench as he realizes that they had been much too eager to render her harmless. Still, the anxiety rolling off of her in waves makes him enter the room, and his strive for strength makes him breathe it in, secretly wishing it would continue. When he moves around her he can see her lips moving rapidly, her eyes half-lidded and sleepy looking. He stands there for a few more moments, feeling her energy strengthen him further. _

"_Are you death?" Her sudden voice makes him jump, and he has to see the irony of the moment. Never did he think anyone would be able to startle him. He considers her question, and then shakes his head._

"_No. I am fear." He answers without hesitation, and her head slowly turns until she looks him in the eye, her expression blank._

"_You're not very scary."_

"_I will be."_

_ She doesn't respond immediately after that. She just continues to stare at him, her eyes roaming from the bottom of his cloak to the top of his head. Even when he hunches over menacingly and glares at her, she doesn't cower. Her fear is deeper rooted, and he understands completely, because it is identical to his. _

_From that moment on he continued to visit the asylum, drinking in the despair that manifested within its walls, and more specifically, the girl who would help him rise up against those who had imprisoned him._

~M~

Pitch finds his way through the familiar halls easily, glancing over his shoulder for lingering staff in the late hours of the night. Those he does find are so tired that he doubted they would notice him even if he _were _visible. He shakes his head and continues onto the room he wants, slipping through the door silently.

His eyes land on the figure on the uncomfortable cot, and he listens for the tell-tale sign of sleep. Her breathing is even, but it is not so subdued that it indicates some kind of sedation. He moves closer and leans over her, seeing that her eyes are closed. She appears to be merely dozing, and he can't help himself.

He smirks as he wields the black sand over the girl's head, making her flinch and her brow furrow as the unpleasant images overwhelm her mind. She curls up on the cot and lets out a whimper, and then she sits up quickly, making him step back before she makes contact. He can't help but laugh, and she glares at him, folding her legs underneath her.

"Very funny." She mutters, and his chuckles die down as he sits next to her on the uncomfortable mattress.

"You didn't take your medicine." He says with a sly smile, and she just shakes her head. "How are you?"

"They still won't let me go." Pitch frowns, having already deduced that by her presence, but wishing he could do something about it. Over the years that she had been there, he had found solace in her. She didn't turn him away, and in some instances she welcomed him into her life, keeping him company and allowing him to test out his tricks.

"When will you be able to leave?" He asks, and her expression becomes angry, her fists clenching in her lap.

"When they stop catching me talking to myself."

"Have you fought anyone?"

"No. But they still consider me a liability." Pitch's eyes roam over her figure, still so weak and small like the first time he had seen her, and he can't imagine a teenager causing so much trouble. "They say I scare the others when I speak to my friends."

"Then maybe you shouldn't talk to us anymore."

"No." Her answer is quick, and it makes him smile. While he didn't know who she heard in her mind, he could guess that the nurses had caught her speaking to him once or twice as well.

The only problem was that sometimes she didn't feel the need to censor herself even when she _knew_ they were watching. If she truly wanted to leave, she was smart enough to do so. It often made him wonder if she stayed for his sake. Following that train of thought, he tilts his head curiously.

"Why do you stay here then?"

"Because it helps you." That puzzles him, and she smiles. "This place is so gloomy and depressing. It breeds anxiety for me, and if I were to leave, then…" She doesn't have to finish her sentence, and he feels somewhat heartened that she cared enough for him to stay in such a place. "I'm sure my life would still be as miserable as it was _before _I came here, but I feel like I was put here for a reason."

"Do the voices tell you that?" She smirks and slaps at him in retaliation, making him laugh. He knew she hated it when he mocked her, even if it was done with affection. "I'm getting stronger." He says, and she sits up straighter. He raises his hand slightly as the black sand begins to materialize, forming a figure and floating within the air. She watches as it becomes a recognizable animal from her childhood, and then two golden eyes begin to glow from it as it snorts, moving into her outstretched hand. The horse rears up and then moves around her head before nuzzling her cheek, sending chills down her spine.

"A night mare." She laughs. "Clever."

"My army is growing. Soon it will be time for me to make my move."

"And then what?"

"I don't know." Pitch mumbles with a frown. He hadn't actually thought it through that far. He was still skeptical of its success if he were being completely honest. All he wanted was to gain a name for himself again. He had been ignored for so long that it was beginning to give him a complex. He was just thankful that there was at least _one _person who could see him. "What do you think about this?"

"What, you trying to defeat the Guardians?" He nods solemnly, and she shrugs, continuing to allow the night mare to trot along her arms. "I don't know. I don't really care either way." That surprises him, and he instinctively asks why she feels that way. "They weren't exactly there for me when I was younger. Maybe if they _were _then I wouldn't be in this place. But then again, I wouldn't have met_ you_."

"You wish harm upon them?"

"No. But I wish for justice."

"What do you mean?"

"You were created to bring fear, so you brought it. And then they decided that you were too much of a problem, so they buried you alive and left you there to rot while they pranced around like heroes. I don't think that's right, and I don't blame you for wanting revenge."

"I thought you said it was justice." His smirk returns, taking in her superior expression.

"Sometimes they're one in the same."

He wonders for a moment if it is indeed revenge that he seeks, and comes to the conclusion that it is the main core of his motivation. In the years he had been free to roam while he was evading their detection, he had seen the response their existence had on the children of the world. He still didn't understand why they were chosen to be loved and he to be hated. Fear definitely had its place. For some, it evoked caution that allowed people to move through their lives after having learned from their mistakes. For others it was a thrill, and the day he became informed of artificial attractions called "haunted houses" where fear was encouraged and enjoyed had been a happy one. And then there were those whose fear controlled their lives, and those were the ones who shunned him the most.

As he remains lost in his thoughts, her index finger moves down the mare's flowy spine and she smiles. The mare leans into her touch, making her laugh.

"You may need to consider a different army." She says, and he shrugs. "They really aren't that scary, and not threatening at all."

"That's because you aren't afraid of her." His velvety voice makes her glance up at him, and he waves toward her and the happy mare. "They thrive off of fear. You have none, and so she stays as docile as a kitten."

"Does that bother you?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No. You aren't my target." While he could still frighten her with his surprise visits and take control of her dreams when she was lucky enough to have them, she still remained unaffected by him as a person, and sometimes he wondered if that wasn't why he had become such good friends with her. "If I could get you out of here, would you go with me?"

She stays silent and her hand drops, making the night mare trot away from her and into Pitch's hand, curling around his fingers. He waits patiently as she thinks about it, and then she looks up at him and nods with a wry smile.

"Yes. But we'd never make it." Just at that moment, footsteps echo outside in the hallway and she quickly scrambles to lie down on the mattress. Pitch stays at the end and looks toward the door as a face appears in the window, checking up on their patient. It makes him wonder if they suspected she hadn't taken her medication, and he smirks. She thought she was so clever, and still managed to get caught. Her doubts about her escape now seem more understandable, and he shakes his head.

"I don't mean to sound like one of _them, _but you need to have more faith in yourself. And me, for that matter." She keeps her head facing the wall as a precaution, but smiles.

"I do."

"Then why won't you take the risk?"

"Because you need to take care of yourself first." She mutters, her hands becoming fists near her head as she continues to fake sleep for the staff's benefit. "Get your revenge, and then come back for me."

"Sure, so long as you promise me one thing." He can practically hear her ears perk up, and he leans forward to smile at her. "Don't get scared…"

~M~

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and again, Happy Halloween! Please take note that I looked up the most haunted asylums, and Rolling Hills Asylum was the first that came up, so I just used the name. None of my descriptions about the building, staff, or patients is in any way based on truth. I was just too lazy to come up with a name on my own. Anyway, thanks again! I hope you enjoyed it. Review please!


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